Not at all
by cucumbersaregreen
Summary: He had enough. He'd already talked to Vance. The Director of the NCIS had been thrilled about his pending resignation. Yes, it would be better if Tony DiNozzo left NCIS, forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Not at all**

**by cucumbersaregreen**

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**Chapter 1**

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He had enough.

But if he really thought about it he'd already had enough three weeks ago.

Then he'd still been convinced it would be some very fleeting effect of the latest developments.

That Gibbs would stop.

He hadn't.

Three months after his return form Mexico Gibbs was still tormenting him at every possible turn.

No thank you, but he hadn't been expecting that. Not really. No acknowledgement or heaven forbid an apology.

"Apologies are a sign of weakness."

But sometimes they aren't, are they? Sometimes to admit your own mistakes and failures takes a lot of bravery. Strength. Something the ex-Marine didn't seem to posses. He'd just dumped Tony's stuff on his old desk, fired the new teammate and demoted him back to Senior Field Agent. Just like that. But that was nothing compared to what had followed. Days of angry Gibbs-glares. More head slaps than ever and continuous screaming had taken its toll.

Tony DiNozzo had enough and soon the whole MCRT would know about that.

He'd already talked to Vance. The Director of the NCIS had been thrilled about his pending resignation. More little McGeeks could invade the bullpen. A great chance for Vance, hell on earth for Tony. But if he really thought about it, he didn't care.

Not a bit.

There was nothing keeping him here. Maybe Abby, but she'd forgiven Gibbs the moment he'd returned. Tony'd helped her, held her while she cried, because Gibbs had left and now, suddenly, it was all back to happy, dancing, carefree Abby, the lapgoth. He'd certainly miss the Autopsy Gremlin. He'd been a great friend the last few years. Even though Tony hadn't liked him right away and their friendship had had a bit of a bumpy start, it was stronger now than ever. But Jimmy had his cell number, the one he hadn't even given Abby and Gibbs and there would be no way he'd leave America. So he'd just step by at Jimmy's place whenever he felt like it. Ducky was another thing entirely. Tony knew that he'd have to cut the ties with the old ME, that he'd always seen like some kind of wise grandfather. He liked to listen to Ducky's stories, he loved to talk to him and Jimmy's boss had helped him on more than one occasion, but he was to close to Gibbs to keep in touch with. Gibbs was the reason he wanted to leave after all, no sense in randomly running into him while meeting Ducky at his home. Not only no sense in it. Tony knew that he wouldn't be able to ever look into the ex-Marine's eyes after he left NCIS. Gibbs would despise him that was a given. He'd be disappointed that none of his "gentle teaching" had shaped Tony into another Gibbs. One that wouldn't leave his own team behind. Semper fi, huh? Always faithful was not something Gibbs could describe himself as.

More like always drinking coffee, or always glaring. But there were no Latin expression for that.

Tony smiled to himself as he left the elevator and entered the bullpen. The Ninja Chick was already working and McDonald leaning over some probably insanely fascinating new gadget. Tony placed his coffee onto his new/old desk and slipped into his swivel chair. Spun once and then hit the smooth surface of the table with the palms of his hands. Grinning at his two team members he exclaimed:

"Sooooo, how's it?"

Zeehvaa shot him an annoyed glace and continued typing and the Probie sighed, but else ignored him entirely. The Senior Field Agent's 2000 megawatt grin never faltered. Not even when his boss whooshed out of the elevator, outright glared at him and then growled:

"Why aren't you working, DiNozzo?"

"Sorry, boss!" he answered happily and drew an old file from a stack sitting on the corner of his desk. Opening it he glanced over to McGreat who was still occupied with his gadget and so evidently not working that even a mole with crutches would've realized it. Apparently Gibbs wasn't a mole with crutches. Tony sighed and tried to concentrate on the file in front of him, but his mind kept wandering around restlessly.

It felt like hours until Gibbs finally got the long awaited phone call and he snarled:

"We've got a dead Marine at Dover. Grab your gear!"

Tony jumped up instantly and already had his bag slung over a shoulder when his boss continued:

"DiNozzo, you stay. We don't want you distracting your team members, do we?"

The recipient of another patented Gibbs-glared forced out a laugh void of any emotion and slumped back into his chair. The bit of happiness he'd felt at having a case to distract himself with had totally evaporated. McGoo send him one last smug look before he disappeared behind the closing doors of the elevator.

No, he wouldn't miss them.

Not at all.

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Hope you liked it. Please Review!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the amazing feedback! Your Reviews are like fuel for me, so keep them going to keep me going! :D And thank you dear Guest reviewer for pointing out that I mixed up the storyline. Sorry! Didn't want that to happen, but fixed it now.

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**Not at all**

**by cucumbersaregreen**

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**Chapter 2 **

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Tony was sitting alone in the bullpen, his feet on the desk in front of him and his eyes closed. The paperwork his team had left him with was finished and he didn't know what else to do. Baltimore, Philadelphia, at both PDs he'd worked at his best until the very end.

"This time that's not very likely." he sighed to himself, resigned, took his feet of his bureau and opened a drawer to his left. At the bottom of it, hidden under stacks of empty white paper and some unfinished drawings laid his resignation. He pulled it out, threw it over to McGeek's desk and started packing some pens, a photo of the team, with an almost smiling Gibbs and his awards into his bag, leaving files, some chocolate bars and his second cell phone behind. McNerd and Gibbs would probably try to trace it and he didn't believe himself to be capable of keeping a cool head when his boss and Probie appeared at his new home without having been invited beforehand. He didn't even put it past Gibbs to break into his house, in case he wasn't at home at the moment. He'd probably shoot the ex-Marine should it ever come to that.

Yesterday Tony'd gotten his money from the bank. He'd already organized a new apartment in Philadelphia. It would be great to return to the city. It hadn't been one of his best jobs at PPD, but it had been quite nice living there. He wasn't gonna go back to his old Police Department. He'd taken a job at a local supermarket as shop assistant and intended to stay there until his team had forgotten about him. Lay low for a while, it'd probably not take a lot of time. And who knew, maybe he'd made a great career until then. Rags-to-riches. The American dream. Once he'd told the Ninja Chick that he _was _the American dream, now he wasn't so sure about that anymore. The American dream would be able to get people to like him longer than a few years.

Sighing Tony threw his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his resignation off the Probie's desk. He'd typed it two weeks ago, until then he had never really thought about leaving NCIS.

He'd thought that maybe someone would fire him, Gibbs, or probably Vance, but neither had. Gibbs seemed close to it though sometimes.

He'd thought that he would die during a case, shot by some drug dealer or insane psychopath.

He'd even though about disappearing without a trace, like Gibbs had. To Mexico. Maybe Europe.

He was still thinking about that, actually, but America was his home and leaving it would hurt even more than leaving NCIS was going to. Because even though he would miss none of the people working here, or if he was absolutely truthful with himself, even them a bit, he'd definitely miss the good times. Before Mexico, before Jeanne. Maybe even before Kate's and Director Shepherd's death. When Gibbs had been bearable, McGoo not as stuck up as he was now and he could trust them to have his six. Now he didn't know what to think of them anymore. Gibbs had prooved to be untrustworthy. Ziva had prooved to be even more reclusive than usual. And McGee, well, the Probie had turned into quite a good investigator, he'd do good as Senior Field Agent. He'd be happy about the promotion. Abby would get over it. She had the whole team to help her after all. He hadn't had that luxury, with his only friends being stuck in their own misery. None of them would be too miserable this time. If he was lucky they wouldn't even search for him, but either way, this had to be planned if he wanted to really disappear and never reappear at NCIS. And that was, after all, just what he wanted.

Tony slowly made his way up to Vance's office. He had to steel himself against the self satisfied smile that would surely be plastered all over the Director's face. The face of the man that was one reason for him to leave. As he entered the bureau of the Vance's secretary, she stood up and protested weakly:

"You can't … he's ..." she hesitated for a second. "working!"

Tony glared at her and threw the door to Vance's office open. She knew perfectly well that her protests wouldn't stop him from just storming into it. The door banged against the wall and the Director of the NCIS, munching on his obligatory toothpick flinched back and jumped a bit. Angrily staring at his agent he set the gadget he had been fingering carefully onto his desk.

"Yes, Agent DiNozzo?"

Breathing in deeply Tony took a quick step into the room, threw the resignation into his ex-Directors face, turned around and stormed out of the room, leaving a fuming Vance in his wake. Chuckling to himself the ex-Special Agent descended the stairs to the bullpen. He'd always wanted to do that. Since the seat of the Director had been given to Vance. Not necessarily his resignation, but something just as shocking. Like a forged love letter from Gibbs. Or an invitation to his birthday party. A bitter smile spread over his face at that thought. What birthday party? He hadn't had a birthday party for - he couldn't even remember. It felt like ages since he'd gone to even someone else's birthday party. As he reached the elevator he turned around one last time. Yes, he'd miss this place, but he wouldn't miss Gibbs angry glares and growled orders or Vance's and lately McDonald's arrogant I-am-so-much-better-than-you-because-I-can-type-wi th-my-eyes-closed-stares. Frowning he entered the elevator and pushed the button to the first floor.

A few hours later, Tony DiNozzo, ex-Very Special Agent and soon to be shop assistant was standing alone outside the parking area of the rental car firm Alamo's domicile in Washington D.C.. About twenty tourists were crowding around a poor totally overstrained Alamo employee and one by one cars pulling out of the drive. Slowly strolling over to the metal gate separating him from the angry mob, one of whom was screaming something in Italian, Tony hummed to himself. Yes, this was a fine day. He'd packed all of his belongings and stuffed them into the old transporter of a friend. Said friend would drive them to Philadelphia, but they'd have to put some boxes onto the front seat too and there was no space left for Tony to cram himself into. So unfortunately he'd seen no other way than booking a car under a false name. A foresight those tourists obviously hadn't had. He'd try to pay in cash. It was still questionable whether or not that would be allowed, normally rental car agencies didn't accept that form of payment, but he'd try anyway. As he advanced on the group he heard the employees screamed pleas for mercy. He was a small fellow, with sparse hair and a high, squeaky voice that tortured Tony's ears.  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't help you. We're trying to process your requests as fast as possible. But we're getting a bit behind."

The poor man, the plaque stuck to his uniform right above his chest told Tony that his name was "Mr. Spencer", looked around helplessly as he desperately tried to explain and excuse the firms problems. Pushing through the mob and elbowing a few fuming and fist shaking women out of the way Tony finally stood in front of the door of the small building set in the middle of the parking area. Entering he stepped over to the next counter and cleared his throat to get the attention of the woman that was standing behind it. She looked up from the shimmering display of her computer and smiled at him. "Miss Steward" was quite good looking, probably in her early twenties. Her hair was tied back into a loose ponytail and the expensive looking pendant laying heavily on her throat let Tony assume that she was only working here to have some spare money. A University student, Tony guessed.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think we can help you. Like my coworker already said, we're a bit behind."

Her voice was cultivated and polite and only strengthened the ex-agents assumptions.

"I booked, Miss Steward." He threw her a charming smile and by her slightly dozed off expression and the startled blinking of her eyes it had the expected effect.

"Ohh … ohh, of course, then." She stuttered and cleared her throat nervously, obviously trying to compose herself.

"Well, then. What is your name?"

"Leroy McScuito." He said smiling at the woman and to himself. It had been a small joke, but now it was hurting a bit to say his ex-friends' names. He hadn't been separated from them for such a long time in what felt like eons. The last weekends they'd been working non-stop and except for that time yesterday, when they'd all left for a crime scene without him, he'd been constantly surrounded by his team. Since then he hadn't seen a glimpse of them though, not even Jimmy had called, but he probably didn't know about his resignation yet. It was actually a bit sad that it only barely hurt, after nearly eight years of working together one would think leaving would tear Tony apart.

"Irish?" Miss Steward asked, smiling coquettishly while typing his name into the computer.

"Scottish." Tony answered and his thoughts turned to Ducky. Yes, leaving the old Scott behind was definitely a big drawback of resigning. Tony's smile slowly vanished as he was lost in his thoughts, looking off into space with a thoughtful expression. Fortunately the Alamo employee was staring at the desktop on the counter, too absorbed in her work to notice. She didn't even wonder about his missing accent. Maybe no university student, after all, Tony mused.

"A small car only. No GPS. No air conditioning. Nothing. That right?" She looked up at him and he immediately schooled his features into a neutral expression.

"Yes, exactly." Tony presented her with another one of his smiles. Watching her closely he noticed that she was fidgeting under his gaze and her eyes jumping back and forth between her dear friend the desktop and his face. She was probably trying to decide whether or not to let him pay like he wanted to.

"You know, normally we don't accept cash, but … well, it's gonna be okay. I'm gonna send the local employees at Philadelphia an email and explain the situation."

"Thank you." the ex-agent grinned at her. "Thank you very much." He repeated. One problem out of the way.

Two hours and a half later Tony stood in front of the door to his new apartment, rummaging through his bag for the key. It had been a short but nevertheless tiring car drive. He'd been stuck in traffic a few times and the hot air blowing in through his opened window hadn't been enough to keep him from sweating half to death. I should have taken a car with functioning air conditioning, Tony berated himself as he stepped into the cool floor of his home for hopefully the next years. To his left was the kitchen, to his right his bedroom and straight ahead the bathroom with a small shower. There was no living room, but enough space for a TV in the bedroom, Tony could live with that. Dumping his bag onto a kitchen chair he smiled as he saw that Nick had already started unpacking some of his stuff. Smelling at his armpits he decided that it was high time for a cool shower.

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It's not the CIA or NSA, DS2010, but it's a job ;) Please Review!

**IMPORTANT!**

I need your opinion: Should I run this past a Beta? I'm not so sure about my spelling and punctuation, so if you see any mistakes, it would be nice if you'd tell me! I hate reading stuff that's full of grammatical errors and stuff, I just want this to be as much fun for you as it is for me!


	3. Chapter 3

Sooo, it seems I haven't truly fixed the mix-up I've made. Well, that means this is now officially an AU, which it actually already was, because I can't recall any episode after Mexico in which Tony resigns. Must've skipped that one, my bad! ;) Now, let's see what else I have to say …

I'm posting this story on AO3 now, too. So if you prefer that to ff . net , just look me up there, the link's on my profile!

Here you have the obligatory "Thank you" for Reviewing, Following or Favoriteing my story: Thank you! I hope I've responded to all of your great Reviews, if I haven't I yet, I sure as heck will very soon! Just tell me :D

Kudos to **Budgie4** for being exactly the amazing beta that I need, you rock!

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**Not at all**

**by cucumbersaregreen**

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**Chapter 3**

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"HE DID WHAT?" Special Agent Gibbs' voice could be heard through two doors, and all the way down to the bullpen of the MCRT. As sweet and gentle as the roar of an angry lion.

Just like the day before, when he'd thrown a temper tantrum that would've put a three year old on caffeine to shame. And all that only because his Senior Field Agent had already gone home before his team returned from the site of death of an old Marine that'd had a heart stroke and keeled over. She'd been dead before she hit the ground. Gibbs had been in a bad mood, raved and screamed and even worse, he'd distributed paperwork like Santa Claus presents. When he realized that not even Vance had stayed the whole day, he sent his agents home early after the Directors secretary gave him the dubious answer "He only told me that I could go home whenever I wanted, and then invited me to come with him, celebrating. He was in a real good mood." when Gibbs had asked her where the Director had left to.

Agent Timothy McGee definitely preferred Santa Claus. Sighing and ducking his head, he tried to appear busily working as his boss stormed out of the NCIS Director's office, a murderous expression on his face. He dumped a barely empty coffee cup into the next bin, crumpled a piece of paper in his fist, and then stuffed it into the first pocket he could reach.

Ziva David looked up from her desktop and eyeballed her team leader cautiously. The last time he'd looked that angry, he'd been very close to killing some poor drug dealer who wasn't telling them half of what he knew. A little girl had been raped and killed by the same person that'd already murdered a twenty-three year old Marine, said girl's father.

"He's resigned!" Gibbs pressed out through his teeth, eyes gleaming murderously. His two agents' heads snapped up. They had only been pretending to work, so that didn't make a huge difference.  
"Who's resigned, boss? Director Vance?" McGee asked, a bit of disappointment coloring his voice.

Gibbs glared at him until the younger man very suddenly became insanely interested in one of the pen's laying on his desk.

"Think, McGee, think! Who didn't bother to show up the whole morning?" Gibbs, looking willing to throttle the next person that dared to talk to him, rushed over to the elevator.

David barely managed to compose herself, and her colleague's mouth swung open. The two agents exchanged shocked glances, but didn't have the guts to try and pry for any more information. The ex-Marine was now standing in front of the closed elevator doors, furiously hitting the "Down" button as if trying to squeeze it into the wall, and then with another angry growl ripped open the door to the stairs.

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"Did you know?" Gibbs demanded as he entered the freezing kingdom of the Autopsy Gremlin and his boss, and thereby interrupting his old friend's monologue (something about three naked women, fake blood and fangs, and an overly ripe water melon). Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard looked up from the corpse lying on the table in front of him.

"Did I know what, Jethro?" he asked, his hands stuck in bloodied plastic gloves hovered in midair, blood steadily dripping onto the floor. Confusion was plainly visible on his features.

"That he'd leave!" 'Jethro' snarled. "Did you know that he'd resign?" He was leaning over an empty autopsy table, staring at the old ME as if he was one of his suspects, his hands pressing into the cool metal.

"That who would resign?" Now Ducky's whole body was facing his old friend, the blood dripping a slim line onto the floor.

The answer came instantly: "DiNozzo!" Gibbs screamed. The NCIS ME flinched back. He blinked. And blinked. Then sighed and finally dropped his hands.

"I thought that would be his last resort. You know young Anthony, Jethro, he wouldn't just ..."

"But he did." Gibbs deflated visibly for a second, but then drew himself up again. "How dare he? How dare he leave, just like that?" He growled, apparently forgetting that he'd done just that a few months ago.

"Maybe he has not, my friend. Maybe he will visit sometime today and tell you why he resigned. He probably got a job offer he just couldn't refuse." Ducky mused.

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"Wh-why...? What?" McGee stuttered, still staring at the door his boss had disappeared behind a few minutes ago.

"I don't know!" Ziva muttered. "How would I know? We haven't talked a lot the past few months."

Her co-worker was rejoicing internally: he would be promoted, there would be no one calling him Probie anymore, but he was confused as well: Why had Tony left? Was it because of him? What had he done? And, there was also fear. There would be no one to act as buffer between Gibbs and the team anymore, he, himself, would have to take Tony's place. Well, he would manage, McGee tried to assure himself. He'd earned a degree at the MIT, after all. He'd make a better Senior Field Agent than DiNozzo. His former co-worker had been a brazen playboy, with a constant "happy-face". He'd made jokes about dead people, for heaven's sake! Yes, they were better off without him.

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**Three weeks later…**

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From the day after Tony's resignation until Friday three weeks later, Special Agent Gibbs had been constantly making his two subordinate's lives a living hell. He'd let McGee trace their ex-co-worker's phone about a thousand times, until they'd finally realized that he'd left it in one of the drawers of his old desk. Gibbs had also asked Fornell, and what felt like a million other team leaders, whether they'd offered HIS Senior Field Agent a job, but they'd all assured the fuming Special Agent that they would never dare do such a thing, and probably immediately went searching for the evasive man themselves. He'd even called Senior and even though that didn't help, he'd at least let off some steam while screaming at the arrogant pinhead that was DiNozzo's father.

"I don't know how he managed to live with that guy." McGee had muttered to himself after listening in to the conversation, and promptly received an uncharacteristically hard head slap and a stack of paperwork in return.

It was the first time in many years that the MCRT was behind in their work. Not even when Gibbs had disappeared to Mexico and Tony'd been team leader had the team's crime solving rate dropped. But now it seemed as if the Marines were purposefully choosing the exact moment in which the team was not complete to let themselves be murdered. That was at least how Gibbs let it appear, when a formerly so awaited phone call came and he cursed loudly and amply. Every time they'd just managed to close a case, the next Marine or SEAL was murdered. It was as if Gibbs' phone was ringing non-stop.

McGee's nerves were frayed. He'd worked thirty six hours during the last three days, he was tired, he was annoyed by Gibbs' constant eruptions, and he swore to himself that he'd kill DiNozzo the next time they met. In case they ever met again, of course.

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Ziva David leaned back in her chair to watch the chaos that had been permanently plaguing the bullpen since Director Vance had told Gibbs that Tony'd resigned. McGee was typing away furiously, he'd been on the receiving end of many head slaps and looked immensely annoyed. The one who'd distributed those head slaps was again screaming into his cell phone. The day before, while working on a case, he had been repeatedly checking Tony's banking account to see whether he'd made other withdrawals than the one three weeks ago, one day after he'd resigned. It was slowly driving Ziva nuts. There was not much that could annoy the tough Israeli, but Gibbs' mood swings were definitely one of the few. The ex-Marine had been alternating between being murderously calm and erupting like a long overdue volcano.

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Vance stood at the railing of the platform that lead to his office and looked down on what was left of his MCRT. In the beginning he had been absolutely thrilled that one of the agents he could stand the least had resigned, but the malicious joy had seamlessly made place for shock. His best team, the one whose crime solving rate had never dropped below ninety percent the whole time since NCIS' onset, was rapidly falling apart. Gibbs was constantly screaming alternately at him, some random people that had dared to call him and at his agents, who were at the end of their ropes. Vance watched as David's eyes slowly closed and her breathing evened out. His favorite agent McGee appeared to be very close to a nervous breakdown, hitting his head repeatedly against the surface of his desk. He knew that the forensic scientist Miss Scuito had locked herself into her office. She was still receiving orders, but refused to talk to anyone, even Gibbs. Some other agents that had known DiNozzo, had stopped by to ask where he was, but only received cool glares in response to those questions. But what shocked Vance the most was that he'd no idea how to solve this mess. He knew perfectly well that Gibbs would react as positive to a new Agent as a dog to castration. But bringing DiNozzo back was not an option. Firstly because he had no clue where the ex-agent was, and secondly because he really didn't want to beg him to come back, and that would probably be what Gibbs would expect him to do. DiNozzo hadn't exactly told him why he was leaving, but Vance had an inkling that it had something to do with Gibbs' sudden disappearance to Mexico. He'd read about that in his record. The probability that his negative feelings for DiNozzo had been absolutely mutual had only been emphasized by the way the man had resigned. But not even that had managed to dampen Vance's spirits as he'd read his ex-subordinate's resignation. It had been nothing special, just the standard form. The reason DiNozzo had given was "Personal issues", but Vance hadn't cared a bit, the agent could've resigned because of some terminal illness and he wouldn't have wasted a second thought to it.

* * *

Down in the morgue Jimmy "Autopsy Gremlin" Palmer was just weighing a liver when his boss brought up "the topic". Jimmy'd called Tony right after he'd finally heard of his friend's resignation through the grapevine. Dr. Mallard hadn't wasted a word on it, probably assuming that Tony'd already told his assistant. But now, standing with his arms elbow-deep in some poor man's guts, the ME just had to come back to the issue.

"How is young Anthony doing, Mr. Palmer?" Jimmy looked up at his boss, who was regarding him with concerned eyes.

"Euh,..." Jimmy stuttered. He knew perfectly well that Gibbs would skin him alive if he were ever to find out that he, Palmer, was still in contact with his evasive friend and hadn't told the agent.

"I, well, I don't… euh... know, Dr. Mallard." Lying had never been his forte, and doing it to his boss was as impossible as flying to the moon only using a swing and swimmies. The old ME just kept staring at his assistant, patiently waiting for him to break down and confess everything.

"Well, I..." said assistant tried again. "Dr. Mallard..." Deciding to remove a bit of the pressure from the man facing him, Ducky stated calmly:

"I know that you have his second mobile phone number, Mr. Palmer." The Autopsy Gremlin's chin hit the floor.

"How…?" He wanted to kick himself, why was it that he could only mutter some incoherent words when surprised… or talking to Gibbs? His boss smiled.

"He called me from a telephone booth, to tell me how sorry he was about not being able to keep in contact with me. I will not tell Jethro about it, Mr. Palmer." Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief, he wouldn't have been able to keep quiet much longer. After a short time of consideration he began to talk:

"He's great. He likes his new job, he's working as a shop assistant, by the way. I doubt that that is a good job choice for him, but he was adamant that... "

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I hope you liked it and are going to review ;)

I've started to upload a collection of poems at fictionpress . com (same penname). Would be very nice if you'd take a look at it, I desperately need some feedback!

**ANOTHER TERRIBLY IMPORTANT NOTE**:

Do any of you, dear readers, know other fanfics in which Tony leaves NCIS? I've only found about five to put into my new Community "The day he had enough" and I think that's a bit embarrassing. I'd be really thrilled if you could help me with this!


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry! I know I'm late! I had a bit of a writers block and A LOT to do, but enough of the excuses:

Thank you for all of your reviews and to my great Beta **Budgie4!**

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**Not at all**

**by cucumbersaregreen**

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**Chapter 4  
**

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Tony was leaning against a concrete wall in the storage room of a supermarket in Philly with the very creative name "Philadelphia's supermarket", staring down at a worn book. Its cover was yellow from age and the corners had been ripped off long ago. Something indefinable, but sticky, covered the back of it and made the blurb barely legible. In his whole life Tony DiNozzo hadn't read as much as he'd done the last few weeks. Today's lecture was "To kill a Mockingbird". He could only vaguely remember how bored he'd been when they'd forced him to read it in school, but now it made for an interesting few hours. He'd had enough past experiences with racism to admire Atticus for defending the black guy, Tom Robinson. The primary reason he'd started to read had been boredom. Being a shop assistant wasn't demanding enough for the ex-agent. The only challenge he'd faced that day, was helping an old lady to find the peanut butter.

At first it had only been something to keep him busy, but after the first two books he'd started to become more passionate about reading**,** and even though he'd refused to touch any books by "Thom E. Gemcity" he'd found out that he rather liked thriller. Out of habit, it seemed, he regularly got extremely agitated when the mentioned agents, cops or private detectives did something insanely stupid. The TV in the storage room, where he'd started to spend his lunch breaks together with his new boss**,** after they'd realized that you just couldn't hold a proper conversation outside**,** had only one channel that showed constant repetitions of some soccer matches. Staring off into space had made him brood. Long ago Tony'd decided that brooding made people wrinkly, because they'd always frown while doing it**,** and getting crinkly at the young age of twenty-five (wink, wink) wasn't part of his scheme of life. So he'd started to read**,** and when his boss realized that he was interested in that kind of stuff he'd started recommending books, mostly from British authors.

Tony rather liked Mr. John Smith, the owner of the store he was working at. He had red hair, that kind of red that people in the Middle Ages would've burned him for as a witch, totally ignoring the fact that he was a guy (witches could probably change gender anyways), and green eyes. The first time they'd met, Mr. Smith, who wore trench coats, liked tea and chips with vinegar, had made it perfectly clear that he didn't want to be in any way associated with "those Englishmen". Later, after a bit of gentle prodding, he'd admitted the quite obvious fact that he was indeed British, but that he'd felt so betrayed by his fellow countrymen when they'd lost that soccer world championship semi-final against Germany in 1990 that he'd promptly decided to emigrate to the States. He had a dry humor Tony very much admired, and was generally a nice enough fellow. He let the ex-agent leave early and come in late without instantly shouting at him and talked a lot, sometimes even about his private live. Besides initially being bored half to death, Tony's new life was starting to shape out quite nicely. Even though it was very different to the one he'd lead in Washington, with only his frat brothers and team as friends, he loved his life more than he'd done in years. Sometimes it had only seemed like an annoying necessity, because there had to be something before death, after all. As if trying to make up for years of constant disaster, Tony now felt as if he'd finally struck lucky. After his first day at work, he had been a bit hyperactive and decided that it was time to re-discover the city. His first stop was to be a bar he'd often visited while working at the PPD. It had been a nice place, a bit filthy, but still acceptable. Faster than he ever had, he'd found new friends and hadn't yet had the misfortune to meet any of his old colleagues. Tony could really live without questions about the development of his career. From special agent to shop assistant wasn't exactly what you'd call "climbing the ladder".

One of his new buddies had agreed to meet up with him tonight to watch a Doctor Who marathon. He'd just have to get the next six hours over with and he'd be free for the weekend. No stressful cases on Sundays, no calls about protocols and the odd trial he'd have to attend. He was truly free to do whatever he wanted. The first weekend had to have been some kind of premiere in his life. Tony sighed, closed his book and took a last bite from a cream cheese bagel, his dinner. Stretching his muscles, he straightened and placed his book on one of the storage cupboards. He'd have enough time to pick it up later, before he left.

* * *

"Tony!" A wide grin split his burly friend's face in two as Tony opened the door. Simon Timson may have towered over his not-at-all small host like an elephant over a mouse, but with his long pale brown strands falling into his face and his expressive brown eyes, he should better be compared to a lion. The first thing that would catch one's eyes if Simon ever were to knock on one's door wasn't his quite good looks and enormous height, but the strikingly orange t-shirt he wore. It had a giant blue peace sign printed on the front**,** and paired with his greenish blue pants made for a fantastic eyesore. He would have gotten along fabulously with Gibbs, Tony had mused sarcastically the first time he'd met Simon, or rather Simmy as his friends called him. The fact that those two were the exact opposite was so obvious that even a narcissistic psychopath with no ability to judge character whatsoever would've noticed. They'd become fast friends by both taking part in the same discussion about war that Simon had started with some of his buddies in the bar the first day Tony'd visited it. And even though they had quite different opinions on the topic**,** they at least agreed on some points. Simon was an ex-Marine and convinced pacifist. After having killed a young boy during a gun fight in Iraq he hadn't reenlisted, and thereby effectively ended his career in the Marine corps, at least that was what he'd told Tony. But said man wasn't as convinced by that story as he probably should be, there was something fishy about it and his gut screamed bloody murder every time it came up.

Simon stepped over the threshold and walked right into the kitchen.

"Got something to munch in here, Tony?" He ripped open the refrigerator doors and grabbed some cold pizza.

"Made it yourself?" he mumbled between bites. Tony nodded and slumped down into one of the two existing kitchen chairs.

"Got any news from Jenny?" he asked his friend and grabbed his half empty beer bottle from the kitchen table. Taking a swing he watched as a grin spread over Simmy's face.

"Ohh, you would really want to know that, wouldn't you?" he mused with a smirk, for once forgetting to eat his pizza. Tony rolled his eyes.

"We've seen each other twice so far, and that weren't dates but random meetings at the bar. She had surgery yesterday, idiot! Shoulda known you wouldn't have a clue."

Simmy's eyebrows knitted together. He'd known Jenny far longer than Tony did and obviously liked her in a buddy kind of way, which made it way easier for Tony to find her cute. You just don't hit on your friend's girlfriends or even future girlfriends.

"What was it for?"

Tony frowned. "Something with the kidneys I think. She said it was nothing dangerous." And his gut had kept silent, which was a nearly sure sign for Tony that Jenny was okay, but he didn't need to tell Simmy about his gut right now. It'd just lead to a conversation about his failed NCIS career and he really didn't need any of those for the next few years, oh screw it, ever actually.

"Moved the TV," Tony said with a grin. "We'll be able to sit on the ground." Simmy groaned.

"If you'd told me that you don't even possess a couch Tony, I'd have thrown my flatmate and his new chick out and we'd've something _proper_ to sit on!" Tony gave him a wicked grin.

"You know the tiles are quite soft if you want to sit on them instead of the mattress I pulled off my bed..." He trailed off, leaving Simmy coughing wildly as he tried to get the pizza out of his windpipe and meanwhile glaring at Tony.

* * *

Seven hours and the same number of Dr. Who episodes later, Simmy decided that it was high time for him to leave. It was 11 o'clock and the sky outside the bedroom window had turned black long ago. As Simmy shuffled, feet dragging from fatigue out of the front door and down the stairs of Tony's apartment, the ex-special agent leaned heavily against the wall. He was tired, but he hadn't had that much fun in ages. Simmy and him both knew close to all episodes by heart, and they'd had a lot of fun imitating the Doctor. The problem was that it had reminded him of the one time he'd had a movie marathon with Jimmy and he realized that he kind of missed the Autopsy Gremlin. He was quite different than his new friend, and Tony somehow preferred his old colleague's calm and shy demeanor to Simmy's self-confidence. With slumped shoulders and heavy eyelids Tony dragged himself to his bedroom. The moment his head hit the pillow he fell asleep, absolutely unaware that he was sleeping on quite hard tiles.

* * *

The next two days flew past accompanied by a stiff neck and sore muscles. On Sunday Tony decided to take a trip to the ocean which had shaped out to be a very bad idea, because apparently he was not the only one that had had that splendid idea. Masses of families with kids had crowded the beaches and very soon Tony'd had enough and left again. So when he woke up on a rainy Monday morning with a headache and for some reason a sore throat he was in a very bad mood. As he quickly ate some breakfast and set off towards the supermarket, he noticed something that was worse than any cold or stiffness: His gut was twisting. The closer he got to the market the more the horrible feeling of his impending doom intensified, and when he finally arrived at his workplace he instantly knew that his gut wasn't acting up for no reason.

On the walkway in front of the lay a mangled form. Tony rushed towards it. The man was lying on his back, feet and arms sprawled out on the wet asphalt, his uniform blotched with his own blood. He was a marine, young, handsome and badly injured. A slow trail of blood, dropping from a deep cutting wound at the base of the man's neck, mixed with the rain pouring from grey clouds above, flowed into the gutter, and the man's blue lips nearly shone in the dim light of the street lamps. Tony knelt down beside the marine and pressed two fingers to the man's pulse point. Nothing. Leaning down Tony checked his breathing. Nothing again. Standing up and rubbing his now wet pants, Tony cursed wildly as he realized whose task it would be to solve the murder of this man. He took out his phone and dialled 911, unaware as he left of two bloody fingerprints he'd left on the man's neck.

Two hours later Tony had managed to convince himself that he would not, under any circumstances**,** let his old colleagues see his face. After having reported the crime, making his voice seem high pitched and squeaky, he went back to his apartment, put on a new pair of pants and waited until he could be absolutely sure that the police had already arrived. Then he walked to the crime scene, acted like a noisy stranger and lied to the police about his name and whether he'd known the dead marine. Which actually wasn't that much of a lie as he'd never seen him before that day. As his boss finally arrived he told him that he was sorry, but that he had a cold and had to take a day of work. Mr. Smith was annoyed, but okay with it. Not taking any chances on his way back home, Tony pulled the hood of his jacket deep into his face. He really hoped that he would not have to leave this place so soon.

* * *

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